


So Close And Yet So Far

by fangirlingforthewin



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, As in they don't actually meet for a WHILE, But trust me when they do it'll be GOOD, Fluff, M/M, Rating May Change, Slow Build, THIS IS MY FIRST FIC AND I'M VERY NERVOUS, Work In Progress, probably
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-01 12:48:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2773544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirlingforthewin/pseuds/fangirlingforthewin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Do you think the universe fights for souls to be together?<br/>Some things are too strange and strong to be coincidences.<br/>-Emery Allen</p><p>In which Dean and Cas having been circling around each other for years, and all it takes is some bathroom stall graffiti and a lost dog for them to finally connect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oooooookay, so this is my first fic. It's probably not going to be FANTASTIC, but I dunno, I'm liking it so far. Since this IS a work in progress and I'm honestly not sure if there's gonna be sexy stuff, the rating may change. But anyway... Enjoy?  
> (Also, I'm planning on updating about once a week.)

Logically, it didn't make any sense. Why would anyone keep a phone number they'd found in a bathroom stall? It hadn't even been a _nice_ bathroom stall. In fact, Dean thought it was safe to say that it was one of the worst ones he'd ever been in, and that was saying a lot. The tile floor had been cracked and dirty, the walls had some seriously questionable stains, and the whole place had smelled of shit and cigarettes. But Dean figured that was what he got for stopping at such a creepy gas station by the side of the highway, at night no less. He'd been on his way back east, to Kansas City after his biannual trip to California to visit Sammy, and it'd been a choice between pissing at the side of the road or in the gas station washroom. He would've chosen the side of the road, but he gotten a strong craving for peanut M &Ms a couple miles back, and hey, there was always the chance they'd have a coffee machine.

They hadn't had a coffee machine, as it turned out, and Dean was grumbling to himself in the washroom when he’d looked over and saw what looked like a freaking diary entry scrawled on the wall.

Idly curious, Dean had read it. And discovered that it basically _was_ a diary entry. This dude (who was apparently named Matthew) had angsted for a good fifteen lines about some guy that he said was, "too good for heaven, much less me." Dean gathered that they'd broken up. But the real kicker, the part that had made this truly hilarious, was that Matt, the sad fuck, had written the guy’s phone number at the bottom of the paragraph. Dean couldn’t even imagine what he’s been thinking, like, “Despite my broken heart, the love of my life deserves happiness! Therefore, I will write his number on the wall of the most disgusting gas station bathroom I can find, so that the patrons of said bathroom might contact him, and gain his _love_.” Maybe he’d been drunk; the writing was certainly messy enough. Dean could understand drunk people doing crazy things. Hell, Dean himself had done some pretty wild things while drunk. There’d been that one time in New Mexico where Dean had ended up having sex in the corner of a club with some gorgeous dude named Jimmy, and Dean didn’t _do_ public sex.  But god, the things that guy could do with his tongue…

But anyway, Dean had taken a picture of the writing, sent it to Sammy with the caption, “Bit of light reading for those long visits to the bathroom,” and then, for reasons he still didn’t quite understand, had saved the number into his contacts.

Which was why he was now realizing, two months later, that he’d sent his last text to “Bathroom Guy” instead of “Benny”, who were right next to each other in his contacts list.

At least it wasn’t a dirty text. Dean and Benny had a running joke from a time one summer when Benny had gotten drunk and informed him that, “If I had to fuck a guy, you’re almost pretty enough to be a girl anyway.”Dean had teased him about it mercilessly the next day, thankfully harboring no attraction whatsoever to Benny. He’d given back as good as he got, however, and it had eventually devolved into a contest of who would get embarrassed first, their ammo mostly consisting of increasingly dirty text messages. But fortunately, the text that Dean had meant to send Benny had been serious for once. Charlie, his neighbor, had lost her dog, and Dean had promised to text everybody he knew in the area, to ask if they’d seen it.

So now Dean was staring down at his phone, the text well and truly sent, thinking, “Well, fuck.” He was starting a new text (triple-checking that it would be going to Benny this time) when his phone buzzed loudly, startling him as a notification appeared, informing him that he’d gotten a new text. Apparently Bathroom Guy had replied.

***

Though it was hard to tell from just one text, Bathroom Guy seemed to be a rather brusque person. Not that Dean was curious. At all. Though Dean figured it would be perfectly natural to wonder what kind of person would inspire such extensive bathroom stall graffiti.

He reread Bathroom Guy’s text, which was sitting innocently under his own. Their total conversation so far was fairly unremarkable.

DEAN: _“Hey Ben, Charlie’s lost her dog. Keep an eye out.”_

BG: “ _What does it look like?”_

Dean typed out a response. “ _Sorry to bother you, that text was meant for someone else. But if you want to help, the dog’s small, white, fluffy, and has a collar that says VADAR.”_

BG: “ _OK_ ”

Dean stared down at the two letters. That was it? No, “Hey, no worries, I hope you find him”? Just “OK”? Dean was feeling a bit disconcerted by the whole thing, but shrugged and continued his text to Benny.

The next morning Dean got an ecstatic call from Charlie, who joyfully informed him that she’d found Vadar sitting in front of their apartment building that morning. Bobby glared at him from under the hood of the Volkswagen he was working on when Dean picked up, but Dean just smiled and waved. It wasn’t like Bobby would ever fire him. Dean had known Bobby for as long as he could remember, and Bobby had given him a job in his garage when they’d moved from Lawrence to Kansas City. John had died in a car accident, and Sam had been at Stanford when it happened, so it was Dean who ended up dropping out of his engineering program at University of Kansas to look after their mom. He’d started living with her again, and they’d moved to Kansas City not long afterward, the memories in Lawrence being too painful. They found a small apartment without too much trouble, and Mary had gotten a job nursing at the local hospital. Bobby, who of course knew about their situation, had offered Dean a job the day after they arrived in Kansas City. Without John’s income, and with no scholarships to speak of, Dean had quickly figured out that going back to college hadn’t really been an option. And though Mary would never admit it, Dean had known that paying the bills would be an issue, an issue that he could help with if he was working full time. He’d gotten an apartment with Benny a couple months later, making sure Mary was totally settled before moving out again. She’d offered to let him stay, but what 23 year old wants to live at home with their mother?

A couple years later, he was earning enough to have his own neat little apartment, though he still gave a chunk of his paycheck to his mom every month. These days the garage was getting more business than ever before (which had also exponentially increased the amount of grumbling on Bobby’s part about “these useless foreign cars.” When Dean pointed out that the foreign cars were why their business was still afloat, he got a wrench chucked at him) so Dean had gotten a couple raises over the years as he improved.

Dean worked until the end of his shift, then sat in his car for a while before going home, texting people to let them know that Vadar had been found. He hesitated before texting Bathroom Guy, but figured it couldn't hurt.

_“We found the dog.”_


	2. Cas' POV: An Asshole and a Trickster

_“We found the dog.”_

Castiel looked down at the text and smiled softly to himself. He had looked for Vadar (what an odd name) on his walk home, but the only dog he’d seen had been a large black rottweiler, which hadn’t been anything resembling the description his mysterious texter had provided. 

After breaking up with Matt several months ago, Castiel had received several texts from random numbers, but never one so innocent. Most were inappropriate remarks, or requests for his “services” from people Castiel could only assume did not have autocorrect installed on their phones. Perhaps the texts (and occasional 1:00am phone calls) had nothing to do with Matt, but they  _had_  started not long after their relationship ended, so maybe Castiel was justified in feeling more than a slight twinge of resentment towards him.

Their breakup had been ugly, with Castiel coming to the unhappy conclusion that he was quite simply no longer in love with the other man. He had tried to fix it, arranging romantic outings and initiating more sex, but it hadn’t helped. He now regretted making all that extra effort towards the end of their relationship, as he suspected that it had made his departure all the more unexpected for Matt. He had ended the relationship as gently as he could, making a homemade dinner and waiting until the other man was finished eating before telling him that it was over. Matt had not taken it well. As Castiel moved out over the following two days, their shared apartment had been filled with crying, yelling, and even threats, which had only solidified his determination to leave. Ever since then he had been receiving the strange texts, punctuated by drunken calls from Matt himself. It was enough that he was seriously considering getting his number changed. So a simple request about a lost dog, even if it clearly hadn’t been meant for him, had been a breath of fresh air.

He looked back at his computer screen and sighed, thinking that he really should get back to work. He was temporarily (he hoped) working for his brother, Gabriel, who ran a shop called Novak Tech. It sold a variety of used technology, ranging from big-screen TVs to HAM radios, and Gabriel would even do some repair work in his spare time. Only the day before, a tearful young girl had come in with an old broken discman, placed a couple crumpled dollar bills on the counter, and asked him to please, “Ask Mr. Novak if he’ll repair it.” Castiel, who worked as a receptionist during the day and a bookkeeper after hours, had felt his heart melt a little, and promised that the discman would be repaired.

He’d been working there for a couple months, ever since he quit his last job. Before, he had worked as a personal assistant and accountant for Zachariah, the head of the biggest law firm in town. But when Zachariah had asked him to fire one of the company employees, Charlie, for kissing her girlfriend at a company party, he’d resigned his position.

In Gabriel’s version of the story, he’d punched Zachariah in the face, yelling about gay rights, before being dragged out by security. In reality it had been far less dramatic.

“I need you to fire someone,” Zachariah hadn’t even looked up from his papers when he heard Castiel enter.

“Who?” Castiel asked, unsurprised by this request. It wasn't the first time he’d been asked to fire someone.

“Charlie Bradbury,” Zachariah had said, handing over an employee personal file. “Our in-house IT expert.”

He’d flipped open the file to find that he recognized the face of the woman smiling up at him from her required employee picture. Though they had never spoken, she would always grin at him when they passed each other in the hallways, a mischievous grin that made him feel like they shared a secret, and it had never failed to brighten his day a little bit.

“Why?” he had asked, frowning.

Zachariah’s eyebrows lifted - Castiel had never questioned a decision to fire someone before - but answered anyway. “She was caught at the Christmas party last week kissing the woman she brought as her guest. We have a standard of behaviour to uphold. You know that.”

Castiel had felt a layer of ice forming over his heart. Hoping what his gut was telling him was wrong, he said stiffly, “A lot of couples were kissing at that party. There was mistletoe.”

Zachariah had glanced at him sharply. “We also have an image to uphold, Castiel.” The words had cracked like a whip. “Many of our clients prefer us because of our more traditional views. Unfortunately, Miss Bradbury’s choice of kissing partner threatens that image.” Zachariah had paused, holding Castiel with a hard gaze. “She. Must. Go. Is that understood?”

Castiel had lifted his chin, posture rigid. “I’m afraid, sir, that if you want to fire Miss Bradbury for being gay, you will have to fire me too.”

Zachariah had looked faintly surprised for a moment before his features hardened. “Fine,” he had said, darkly. “You have half an hour to pack up your desk.”

So now here he was, working for his big brother in a tiny tech shop, desperately looking for alternate employment in his spare time. He suspected that Zachariah (or possibly one of his underlings) had told people about Castiel when he quit, because to say that the search was going badly would be an understatement. He’d dropped off his resume at various businesses, company headquarters, and law offices, anywhere that might need a full-time accountant. He was certainly more than overqualified for most of the jobs he was applying for. He’d been at the top of his class at accounting school, and had several years of experience both at an accounting firm, as a freelance accountant, and as a private accountant for Zachariah. Freelancing was fine, but job security was virtually nonexistent. Castiel was hoping for something a little more stable. Nevertheless, he hadn’t gotten a single call, much less an interview.

At least he wasn’t short on cash. His job with Zachariah had payed very well, and he’d never seen the need to live extravagantly. As such, he had quite a bit saved up. Plus, he was now working for Gabriel, as stressful as that was. He kept popping his head out of his workshop to chat whenever he got bored of repairing televisions and whatnot. (Assuming that was what was doing in there. Castiel had heard more that one explosion coming from the workshop since he’d started working for Gabriel.) Unfortunately, these chats usually devolved into Gabriel talking (bragging, really) about his newest girlfriend, or bemoaning the fact that Castiel wasn’t “getting any”. Every other week, Gabriel would come in with a new suggestion, another friend who was “totally your type this time, I swear, Cassy.” Gabriel had yet to find someone he actually liked, and Castiel was quickly growing tired of the whole thing.

Just then Gabriel popped his head out of the workshop.

“Hey Cassy! You’ve got time to talk right? Great. So I was going about my daily business, when a wonderful (genius, really) thought struck me. Do you know Ben? He’s a really great guy, and I think he’s pansexual or something, which, I have recently learned, does not actually mean you’re attracted to pans. Who knew, right? But anyway, he’s a really nice guy, and totally free this Saturday night if -”

“No, Gabriel,” Castiel interrupted. “I told you, I’m not dating anyone else you try to set me up with. The last guy didn’t even have teeth!”

“But he had a pearly white personality.”

“NO, Gabriel. There hasn’t been a single person you’ve set me up with that I’ve actually enjoyed talking to.”

“What about Jesse? He was handsome and suitably toothy,” Gabriel asked.

Castiel sighed. “We had nothing in common and he was dull as a brick,” he explained patiently.

“But that’s why I thought you two would get along!”

Castiel glared.

“Okay, FINE,” Gabriel threw up his hands in defeat. “I’ll stop - for now. But you have to promise me one thing.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “What?”

“That you’ll go to Singer Autobody Shop tomorrow to see what’s wrong with their computer.”

“What? No. Why?” Castiel asked, frowning.

“Because I kinda promised Anna I’d take her to see the symphony that day, and Bobby Singer always pays extra for me to go look at the computer at his shop instead of bringing it in here.”

“Call him and reschedule. I don’t know nearly enough about computers to fix a broken one!”

“But you know enough to diagnose a problem! That’s all I’m asking, Cassy.”

Castiel fixed him with a hard stare. “Wouldn’t it be more effective to reschedule so that you can diagnose and fix the problem in one trip?”

Gabriel reached up to rub at the back of his neck, refusing to meet his gaze. “He doesn’t like it when I reschedule,” he mumbled.

“You’re afraid of him!” Castiel exclaimed in wonder.

Gabriel’s head shot up, and outraged expression on his face. “No! He’s just… kinda intimidating.”

Castiel sighed. “Fine. I’ll go. But you owe me for this, Gabriel.”

“Fine, fine,” said Gabriel flapping a hand dismissively before perking up, smiling. “I’ll go call Anna.”

Castiel watched, shaking his head as Gabriel skipped back into his workshop again. He looked back to his computer, and opened a new browser window. He needed to brush up on his knowledge of computers if he was going to be looking at one tomorrow.


	3. Cas' POV: The Garage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HEY, sorry this is a week late, but I was pretty busy over the holidays, so I'm using that as an excuse. After this I should continue to post once a week though. But anyway, please enjoy!  
> ***Also note that I have no idea what I'm talking about with most of these topics. So just keep that in mind if you notice any glaring inaccuracies.

As his car rolled up to the rundown little shop proudly displaying its "Singer Auto Body Shop" sign, Castiel felt a twinge of nervousness. He'd done his googling, reminding himself of the common ailments that could befall older computers and laptops, but he was the first to admit it had been a while since he'd done this sort of thing. When he was very young, his father used to teach him and Gabriel everything and anything he knew about computers and how to build or fix them. But when his dad had left, Castiel had stopped using computers entirely. As he grew older and his aversion became more and more inconvenient, he'd eventually broken down and started using computers again. But he tried to never admit that he knew any more about computers than the average person. If his laptop broke, he'd send to Gabriel to get fixed. If a coworker's computer started acting up, he'd remain silent and wait for the IT person to show up.

Gabriel, on the other hand, had thrown himself into computers when their father had left, tinkering away on anything he could get his hands on. He had even, eventually, turned it into a career when he opened Novak Tech, the kind of store their father had always dreamed of having. Castiel honestly wasn't sure which response was healthier, but as he sat in his car, delaying his emergence as long as possible, he almost wished he'd followed Gabriel's example. Perhaps then he wouldn't be feeling so nervous about this whole thing. But he had to face the music sooner or later, so Castiel took a deep breath, grabbed his suitcase (which he had really only brought along for show) from where it lay on the passenger seat, and got out of the car.

And nearly jumped out of his skin as someone behind him spoke. "Hey!"

Castiel turned, heart pounding, to see a short woman with dark, curly hair squinting at him in the sunlight. "I'm Meg," she said. "You're here to fix the laptop, I guess. Gabriel, right?"

"Ah, yes. I mean, no. I'm Castiel, not Gabriel, and I'm not here to fix the laptop."

Meg gave him a strange look. "Okay… Why are you here then? Something wrong with your car? You'll need to make an appointment to get it fixed."

Castiel could feel his face heating up. He was going to kill Gabriel the next time he saw him. "I'm, ah, here to diagnose the problem with the laptop," he explained weakly. "Gabriel will be doing the actual fixing."

Meg's face cleared. "Ohh…" she said, grinning. "So, what, you're the poor schmuck he sends out to do the shit he doesn't wanna do?"

Castiel grimaced. "Something like that."

"Well," she said, clapping him on the back and steering him towards the building. "Best get to it, Tonto."

The laptop was set up in the reception area, though to be honest the "reception area" only consisted of a front desk and a couple chairs by the door. It was lit by a large window, but a thin layer of dust seemed to cover every surface available, including the piles of papers, staplers, and pens that cluttered the desk. Castiel moved one of the stacks of paper, being careful not to change their order, on the off chance of there being a system of organisation in place, and put down his suitcase.

He turned to Meg. "Would you be able to tell me what the first indication was of the problem?" Castiel asked, gesturing at the dusty laptop.

Meg snorted. "I'm just one of the mechanics. It's Bobby who handles the computer stuff. He has no idea what he's doing though. I don't thing we'd even  _have_ a computer here if Dean hadn't bullied him into it."

Castiel politely waited until she was finished speaking before asking, "So where could I find Mr Singer then?"

"I'm here," said a gruff voice from the door to Castiel's left. "An' you can just call me Bobby."

Castiel nodded to the grouchy looking man in a wheelchair that had just cine into the room. "If you'd prefer that."

Bobby grunted. "Where's Gabriel?"

Castiel grimaced. "He's, ah… indisposed. He sent me to diagnose the problem before he comes to fix it."

"Is he sick?" Bobby asked, frowning.

Castiel shifted uncomfortably. "No," he replied.

"There's some utter bullshit reason he isn't here, isn't there?" Bobby asked, narrowing his eyes.

Castiel shifted again. "I really couldn't say."

Bobby sighed. "That idjit. Well, better let you get to it," he nodded towards the computer. "Damn thing's been overheating and dying for the past three days."

"I see," said Castiel, already running through possibilities in his head. "I'll take a look."

"Come find me if you need anything," said Bobby, heading back out to what Castiel assumed was the rest of the shop, Meg following behind.

It didn't take Castiel long to find the source of the problem, (a malfunctioning fan and some dusty, blocked up air vents) so only a few minutes later he found himself exploring the rest of the garage, trying to locate Bobby. He found him peering into the engine of a car, swearing steadily under his breath.

Castiel approached cautiously. "Is there anything I can do to help?" he asked, pausing a couple feet from the car, eyeing Bobby warily.

Bobby glanced at him and flushed red. "Dropped a wrench in the engine and I can't reach it," he explained gruffly.

Castiel nodded, understanding. There was no way a man in a wheelchair could reach to the bottom of an engine. Silently, he set down his suitcase and approached to peer into the engine, trying to locate the dropped wrench.

"I wouldn't even be doing this shit if Dean were here today," mumbled Bobby, apparently uncomfortable with the silence. Castiel glanced at him questioningly.

"Dean's one of our mechanics," Bobby explained. "Damn good one too. But his mom's sick, so he's takin' the day off to take care of her. So I'm stuck picking up the slack."

Castiel made a noncommittal noise in return, not really sure of how to respond. He was now elbow deep in the engine, having located the wrench in a part of the engine clearly not designed to accommodate human arms. When he finally closed his fingers around it, he exclaimed in victory. "There," he said, handing the wrench back to Bobby. He glanced towards the door. "I was just about to leave, actually. The only thing wrong with the laptop are some clogged up vents and a broken fan, both of which are easy to fix. Gabriel should be here by tomorrow to fix it and I doubt there'll be any problems."

Bobby took out his wallet. "How much do I owe you?"

"Oh," said Castiel, surprised. He hadn't even thought of that. "You can just pay Gabriel tomorrow for the both of us."

Bobby nodded, satisfied. "Alright. Tell your brother that if he isn't here tomorrow, I'm firing his ass."

Castiel smiled. "I will," he promised, before leaving.

He sat in his car for a moment before driving off, checking his phone for messages. There were two, one from Matt, which he ignored, and one from Gabriel.

GABRIEL:  _Sup bro? Did the thing w/Bobby go well?_

He quickly typed out a reply.

CASTIEL:  _It went fine, Gabriel. Bobby called you an idjit and said to tell you that he's firing you if you're not there tomorrow._

GABRIEL:  _Fuck. Hey what r u doing on st patricks day?_

CASTIEL:  _That's in two days, isn't it? I was going to stay home and read._

GABRIEL:  _LOSER! And ur wrong, ur coming to this great place Anna and i found. Its called the roadhouse u'll love it._

Castiel sighed and drove off, hoping like hell he'd be able to convince Gabriel to leave him in peace someday.


	4. Dean's POV: The Older Brother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good lord I love writing Dean. Cas is wonderful and I love him, but Dean is just so much FUN. And he almost always does what I want. Anyway, enjoy!

When Dean went to work the next day, he entered into a war zone. He’d just gotten out of his car when Meg came stomping towards him, looking ready to kill someone with her bare hands. She stopped a couple feet from him, breathing hard through her nose.

“That fucking -” she started, only to stop herself, staring up at the sky with her hands on her hips as she took a deep breath. When she’d calmed down a bit, she tried again. “Gabriel’s here,” she said with a smile that was more a baring of teeth than anything else.

“Oh right,” said Dean, suddenly remembering what day it was. He grinned weakly at Meg, hoping she wouldn’t decide to take out her anger on him. “Uh… did he do something” Dean asked.

“No, we’ve been gossiping and painting each other’s fingernails,” she snapped. “He’s a sexist douchebag whose life goal is to piss off as many people as possible. Of course he did something.” She paced for a moment in front of the car before whirling around to point a finger at him. “Just because I’m a woman does not mean I can’t do my job, Dean!”

“Whoa, hey, I know that,” replied Dean, holding up his hands in surrender. “Go tell him that.”

She grunted. “Bobby’s in there now. He made me leave.”

“He gets along okay with Bobby,” Dean supplied, leaning back against the side of the impala. “So his life goal can’t be to piss off _everybody_.”

Meg gave him a scathing look. “He’s scared of Bobby. Anyone with half a brain could see that.”

“Right,” said Dean, not wanting to make her any more furious. For such a tiny woman she had one hell of a right hook, one that Dean had come to respect. He’d only been on the receiving end of it once, but that had been enough. He edged towards the doorway of the building. “Well, I’m gonna see what Bobby want me to work on today… Try not to kill anyone while I’m gone, okay Megan?”

“Fuck you, Dean,” she replied, with a tiny smirk. She always enjoyed it when Dean talked about her killing people, which was rather terrifying in itself.

Dean grinned at her and finally entered the shop. Gabriel was sitting at the desk, the laptop in front of him, upside down and opened up, its insides exposed. Bobby was beside him, looking over his shoulder. “What’re you doing now?” Dean heard Bobby mutter as he approached the desk.

“I’m, um, cleaning out the vents,” Gabriel replied in a high voice than what Dean remembered to be his usual tone. Dean raised his eyebrows as Gabriel proceeded to drop the screwdriver he was holding. Meg was obviously more observant than Dean gave her credit for.

“Hey Gabe,” Dean said, leaning over the desk to see what was happening to the computer. “How’s it going?”

“Bout time you got here,” grumbled Bobby before Gabriel had a chance to respond. “You’re working on the Prius today.”

“The Prius?!” Dean exclaimed. “Aw, come on Bobby, I know you got an Aston Martin Vanquish the other day. That’s _James Bond’s_ car, man. You gotta let me work on that.”

Bobby sat back in his wheelchair folding his arms. “That’s what happens when you take a day off, kid. Meg already called dibs on that one, so you get the Prius. Stop wasting my time and get to it.”

Dean left the office grumbling under his breath, not bothering to catch the door before it slammed shut behind him. He stalked past the Aston Martin, scowling at Meg who was already bent under the hood, working her magic. She winked in reply, apparently guessing the reason for his ire. He stopped in front of the Prius, glaring at it accusingly. After taking a moment to fume, he popped open the hood to take a look at what he was working with, muttering, “It wasn’t a day off. I was taking care of my sick **mom** , like a good little fucking boy scout, for fuck’s sake.” He leaned over to glare at the engine beneath the hood. “It’s not like I was skipping out to go to the beach -”

“Sup?”

Dean jumped, head slamming into the open hood of the car. “Mother _fucker_ ,” he exclaimed, turning around to snarl at whoever had spoken, only to stop in surprise when it turned out to be Gabriel.

He scowled. “Aren’t you supposed to be in the office getting terrorized by Bobby?”

Gabriel shrugged. “He left to go to the bathroom and I had nothing left to do. So what’s up, Dean-o? It’s been ages. You don’t call, you don’t write. I feel like our friendship means nothing to you!” he said, gesturing dramatically.

Dean snorted, in to mood to put up with his antics. “We’re not friends. Your girlfriend and I however, are,” he added as an afterthought.

Gabriel slumped. “Yeah, that’s because everyone loves Anna.”

Dean shook his head. It was more than that. Anna and Dean had grown up together, going to the same elementary school and highschool. They’d even dated at one time, but it had only lasted about a week before they’d both agreed that it was just awkward and that they’d rather stay friends. “Why are you here, Gabriel?” Dean asked.

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed, his face suddenly serious. “I’m here to give you two things: a warning and a… actually just make that two warnings. First, Anna wants to set you up on a date. Second, that date is with my little brother, and I thought you should know that if you’re a dick to him, I will hunt you down and hurt you.”

Dean looked down at the shorter man, slightly taken aback. He’d never seen Gabe being serious before, and he was a bit surprised by how intimidating Gabriel was when he wanted to be. “Okay, um… thanks?” he tried uncertainly.

Gabriel nodded his approval. Evidently he’d said the right thing. “You’re welcome. Well, see you later, Dean-o,” he said with a wink, suddenly cheerful again. “Gotta go make Bobby pay me.” He sauntered off, plucking a lollipop from his pocket and popping it in his mouth.

Dean finished the rest of the day without incident, fixing the clunking sound coming from the engine of the Prius that the owner had described as sounding like a toddler locked in a large metal tube and armed with a small axe. When he was finally done for the day, he went home, texting Anna as he fumbled with the keys to open his apartment door.

DEAN: _A lil birdy told me u have a plot to set me up w/someone._

No more than 10 seconds passed after he had sent the message that his phone rang. Dean let himself into his apartment, and answered the phone with a chuckle. “Too serious to talk about via text? This guy must really be something,” he said teasingly.

“Who told you?” she demanded, already on the offensive.

“Gabriel, actually. He was by Bobby’s today to fix the laptop. I still don’t know why you put up with that guy, by the way. He’s a bit of an asshole,” Dean declared, tossing his keys in the dish he kept on his kitchen counter.

“He is not!” Anna exclaimed. “He’s really sweet! He took me to see the symphony yesterday.”

Dean snorted. “Nerd.”

“Shut up.”

“What’s up with you matchmaking, anyway? And with your boyfriend’s younger brother no less. Like, what, I get the brother you rejected?” Dean asked.

“You get the brother who doesn’t like boobs,” she retorted.

“Ah, I see… _You_ were the one rejected,” Dean said, grinning.

“No! You suck, Dean. I’m trying to do something nice for you here.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll play nice. What’s his name, anyway?” Dean asked.

“Castiel. And you don’t even have to go on an actual date with him. Gabe’s bringing him to the Roadhouse for St Patrick’s Day tomorrow, so you can talk to him then. If you hit it off, great, if not, you can just leave since it’s not an actual date. It’s _perfect_ ,” declared Anna. Dean smiled at her obvious excitement over the plan she’d prepared.

“Fine, I’ll talk to him, but I’m not promising anything, Anna,” Dean warned.

“Yup! Of course, yes, that’s fine,” she said quickly, apparently happy just to have him agreeing to meet this guy. “Oh _shit_ ,” Dean heard he whisper before she told him, “I gotta go, Dean. My spaghetti’s boiling over.”

Dean shook his head, chuckling as he heard her hang up. He plugged his phone in to charge before grabbing the TV remote and plopping down on the couch. He’d have to set up tomorrow night’s episode of Dr Sexy to be recorded if he was going to be at the Roadhouse all night with this mysterious “Castiel”. 


	5. The Roadhouse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO FUCKING SORRY. I realize it's been over two months since I posted anything on this fic, but I SWEAR it was never abandoned. Basically I decided to do an extra long chapter and then exams got in the way and then it was really hard to get myself back into the habit of writing. So I'M SORRY, and in apology here's the extra long chapter I've been working on for so long.

Loud though it was, Castiel had to admit there was something charming about the Roadhouse. It was dimly lit, but not smoky or smelling of vomit like some of the other bars Gabriel had taken him to. There were several people scattered throughout the crowd, most either at the bar or in one of the quieter booths at the back, that had such an air of familiarity and comfort that Castiel could only assume they were regulars. The way they slowly sipped their drinks and warily eyed the younger crowd on the dance floor made Castiel think that perhaps the bar wasn’t usually so crowded.

He was sitting alone at a booth in the back corner, sipping at his water and watching the dancers. The music pumping from the sound system was mostly classic rock Castiel only half-recognized. He watched as Gabriel skirted around the edge of the dancers, tugging Anna along with him, to plop himself down in Castiel’s booth, Anna sliding in beside him with much more grace.

“I can’t believe you’re drinking fucking water,” was the first thing Gabriel said. “We’re at a bar! It’s St Patrick’s Day for goodness sake. Live a little!”

Castiel took another sip of his water, ignoring him.

“Ugh,” exclaimed Gabriel, burying his head in his hands. “You’re unbelievable.”

“ANYWAY,” said Anna, glancing around. “I don’t think he’s here yet, but that’s pretty typical for Dean. Always late to the party.”

“Sorry- who?” asked Castiel.

“Um. Dean?” Anna looked at Castiel searchingly for a moment before turning to Gabriel. “You didn’t tell him?!”

“Ah…” Gabriel held up his hands helplessly. “No? You didn’t see how he reacted when I tried to set him up with Ben last week.”

Anna glared at him. Castiel glared at him. Gabriel sighed. “Long story short, Cassie, we (and by we I mean Anna) have found you found you a Greek god. I mean, he’s not Greek, but still. He’s gorgeous, kinda interesting, and has all his teeth. Those were your requirements, right?” Gabriel leaned back, looking smug. “You’re welcome.”

Castiel was still glaring at him. “Gabriel, I _told_ you that I’m not going out with anyone else you set me up with.”

“Aw, come on Cassie, just one more! He’s perfect, I promise.” Gabriel wheedled.

“ _No_ , Gabriel. I’m going home.” Castiel set down his glass and stood up, edging out of the booth. Locating the door, he stomped towards it, coat fluttering a little behind him. The dramatic image was somewhat ruined, however, when someone slammed into him from the side, sending them both tumbling to the floor.

***

Dean parked a couple blocks from the Roadhouse and strolled along the darkened street, enjoying the cool night air. It was a beautiful night, the pavement still wet from when it had rained earlier that afternoon, but the skies were now clear enough that he could catch dim glimpses of stars between each street lamp he passed. He could hear the Roadhouse from a ways away, and grinned to himself. It sounded like one hell of a party. He didn’t usually celebrate St Patrick’s Day, but hey, it was a Friday night, most of his friends would be there, and he was honestly a little worried that Anna would murder him if he didn’t show up to meet the guy she’d found for him.

He was still grinning when he pushed open the door, immediately spotting Jo behind the bar, serving up drinks like a pro. Benny was seated on one of the cracked red leather bar stools, smiling up at Jo like she was the most wonderful thing he’d ever seen. Dean snorted quietly to himself as he headed over, catching a look at the expression on Benny’s face.

Benny’d been in love with Jo for _years,_ and Dean was getting tired of their constant flirting and refusal to date each other. Benny, when asked, would say that he didn’t have anything to offer a romantic partner, especially since he was still sharing an apartment with two other guys. And whenever anyone suggested to Jo that Benny might have an interest in her, she would blush bright pink and fiercely deny any romantic feelings whatsoever. It was frustrating, to say the least.

“Hey Benny,” said Dean, sitting himself down on the barstool next to him. “What’s up?”

“Not too much,” replied Benny, smiling slowly. “I hear Anna’s got a date for you tonight.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah. But if he’s anything like Gabriel, I’m out.”

Benny grinned. “I don’t blame you. He was on the dance floor earlier, trying to get a conga line going.”

“Ugh,” Dean groaned, burying his face in his hands. “With family like that, this guy better be pretty fucking awesome.”

Benny laughed at him, his smile growing even brighter as Jo sauntered over.

“Hey Dean,” she said, nabbing a cloth from under the counter to wipe at a spill of beer. “What’re you guys talking about?”

“Anna’s set him up on a blind date,” Benny explained.

“Oh, with- uh- Castiel, was it? Yeah, he was up here a while ago when Gabriel first dragged him in. Ordered a glass of water,” she shook her head. “Only water I’ve given out all evening.”

Dean looked at her incredulously. “A water? Sounds like a real fun guy.”

She shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. He was pretty hot though.”

Dean had to stifle his laughter as Benny stood up abruptly. “Why don’t you come dance with me, Joanna?” Benny asked, holding out his hand.

Jo blinked, a little lost at the sudden change of topic. “I- I’ve got the man the bar-” she started.

“Ellen’ll cover for you,” Benny said, nodding over to where Ellen was chatting with a costumer, having reappeared from a back room.

“Oh. Well. Okay,” she said, turning red.

Benny took her hand as she came out from behind the bar, smiling down at her as they headed for the dance floor. Dean watched them go with a grin.

***

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” Castiel heard someone say as he peeled his cheek off the grimy floor. He looked up to see a girl with red hair and a graphic t-shirt scrambling to her feet, hair partially obscuring her face. She reached down to grab his arm, hauling him to his feet. “I’m so sorry about that,” she continued, brushing at his trenchcoat to remove the dirt. “Someone spilled their drink and I slipped and- Oh!” She was staring up at him now, a surprised look on her face. Castiel frowned as he got a good look at her, certain he’d seen her somewhere before- “You’re the guy who got fired for me!” she exclaimed.

Castiel blinked, connections clicking into place. He hadn’t recognized her in such a different setting, but it was definitely the woman Zachariah had tried to make him fire. “Charlie Bradbury,” she said, sticking out her hand. “And you’re Castiel Novak.”

Castiel shook her hand robotically, trying to think of something to say. He finally settled on, “Sorry I couldn’t stop Zachariah from firing you.”

“What?” she asked, surprised. “Don’t apologize. It sounds like you did everything you could, especially since we’d never even spoken to each other. And besides, I got another offer from Roman Law a week later.”

Castiel smiled. “I’m glad.” He had worried about her once or twice, wondering idly if she’d had the same bad luck job hunting that he’d had.

“What about you?” she asked. “Where are you working now?”

“I’m, uh, working in my brother’s tech shop,” Castiel admitted. “I sent out my résumé to some law firms, some corporations, but… Well, apparently nobody was interested.”

Charlie stared. “But… That can’t be right. You were practically running the company! I thought you’d be snatched up right away.”

Castiel shrugged. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Zachariah talked to some people and told them not to hire me. It’s not like we ended on good terms.”

Charlie scowled. “That asshole. I’ll talk to my boss about getting you an interview.”

“That’s really not-” Castiel started, but she cut him off.

“No! You lost your job with Zachariah because of me. At least let me help you get a new one.”

She looked so determined that Castiel nodded, relinquishing. “Thank you,” he said with a small smile.

She grinned, taking out her phone. “Let me get your number and I’ll tell you what my boss says.”

They exchanged numbers, and Castiel continued on his journey to the exit, this time managing to avoid the drunken stumbling of the Roadhouse’s patronage. As he walked home, he smiled to himself. He had managed to avoid going on what would’ve no doubt been a truly awkward blind date, and had even gotten a job interview out of it.

***

Anna slumped into the seat next to Dean, looking defeated. “Well,” she sighed. “It was worth a shot.”

“What was?” asked Dean, sipping his beer.

“The date,” replied Anna. “Castiel just, um. Left.”

“Ahh…” said Dean, nodding sagely. “You told him about my intimidating good looks.”

Anna rolled her eyes. “Hilarious, Dean. No, Gabriel just didn’t tell him about the date, so he got pissed off and left.”

Dean shrugged, not replying. He didn’t blame the guy - blind dates usually sucked - but Anna probably wouldn’t appreciate that sentiment right now. She sighed again. “Well, if I can’t get you laid, I’m going to go home. I rented Gone With the Wind and it’s about to expire.” She pecked Dean on the cheek. “Bye, Romeo.”

Anna hadn’t been gone long when a different redhead plopped down on the seat next to him.

“Hey Dean!” Charlie chirped.

“Hey Charlie,” Dean said, smiling. “No luck with the ladies tonight? I expected you to be long gone by this time.”

She smacked him. “You know I’m dating Gilda, you asshole. Just because she couldn’t make it tonight doesn’t mean I’m gonna hook up with somebody else. But I guess you wouldn’t know about that kind of thing, Mr. One-Night-Stands,” she taunted.

“Hey, you think I’d be letting Anna set me up on dates if I wanted more quick hookups?” Dean shrugged. “Nobody seems to be interested in a relationship.” Dean didn’t add “with me” because he wasn’t that sad yet, thank you very much.

“Okay, okay, bad joke,” Charlie patted Dean’s arm affectionately. “You’ll find someone, Dean.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Dean took a sip of his drink and forced himself to stop thinking about such depressing topics.

“Are we still on for next Thursday?” Charlie asked.

Dean brightened. “Of course! D’you think I’d miss our lunch?”

“Lunch” was a rather loose term for how Charlie and Dean spent their lunch hours together once a month. Anna thought it was disgusting. Benny would only ever shake his head and chuckle whenever it was brought up in discussion, but Dean got the feeling he approved. But it didn’t matter either. Because those lunches were easily the best part of his month for the past two years.

Two years since Charlie had shown him the light. Two years since she’d introduced him to his one true love… Mirmy’s Pies.

Dean had no idea who Mirmy was, but as far as he was concerned, she was a saint. Once a month, he and Charlie would go downtown to where the little shop stood, tucked between an office building and a McDonalds, and absolutely _gorge_ themselves on pie. They were on first-name terms with all the waitresses there and never missed a month.

“Awesome,” said Charlie. “I’m probably going to try and get this guy from my old work an interview with my boss that day, but it shouldn’t conflict.”

She glanced at the clock hanging above the bar. “I’m gonna head home. Vadar’ll worry if I’m gone too long.”

“And we can’t have that,” drawled Dean, his mind briefly flashing to the mysterious wrong number he’d texted while searching for the adventurous dog.

“See ya, Dean,” Charlie clapped him on the shoulder before sauntering out the door.

Dean left an hour or two later, not too spectacularly drunk, but drunk enough that he just patted the hood of the impala as he walked carefully past, trying not to stumble, and made a silent promise that he’d come back for her first thing the next morning. When he finally fell into bed, he had strange dreams about disappearing dogs and faceless men.


End file.
